In “Fruitcake in Space,” Gravy producer Bronwen Wyatt explores a bizarre footnote in the annals of human space travel. In 1968, a scientist at a military research facility developed a very unusual recipe: a nutritionally-fortified fruitcake designed as an emergency ration for astronauts. It might be easy to dismiss this fruitcake, but we’re here to argue that it’s part of a larger story—one that takes us from the early days of NASA’s space program to our current quest for Mars. Wyatt investigates the importance of safe preservation techniques in space, how NASA determines what food astronauts will actually eat, and why fruitcake actually makes perfect sense as an emergency ration.

In an archival interview from 1966, dietician Mary Klicka at the Natick Laboratory Army Research, Development, and Engineering Center points to the unique challenges of preparing acceptable menus for long-term space travel. Wyatt speaks to Vickie Kloeris, who managed NASA’s food systems for nearly thirty years from the laboratory at Johnson Space Center in Houston, and Jennifer Levasseur, a curator specializing in food at the Air and Space Museum. Finally, retired astronaut Cady Coleman shares her perspective on dining in orbit. Coleman, who volunteered for the role of "food czar" on the International Space Station, tells how food becomes a form of currency and a tool for building camaraderie among astronauts.

Kloeris, Levasseur, and Coleman emphasize that dining space is about more than the mechanical function of obtaining enough calories to survive. Even in the most barren environments, our cultural drive to bond over food is a connection to our lives on earth and part of what makes us human. The selection and preparation of food—work that is often dismissed as inconsequential domestic labor—is a crucial part of the success of any mission in space.

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In “Got (Raw) Milk? The Small Family Dairy Farms Behind a Big Controversy,” Gravy producer Bianca Garcia takes listeners to Milky Way Farm, the last dairy in Anderson County, South Carolina, where raw milk sales are keeping the Peeler family afloat.

Their neighbors have succumbed to the pressures that have defined a generation of farmers. Between 2003 and 2022, South Carolina—where the state beverage is a glass of cold milk—lost 75 percent of licensed dairy operations. They have found their market in a niche constituency, though the wider public might disapprove. Raw milk is a risky product, often considered a public health risk.

Raw milk is unpasteurized, meaning it hasn’t been through a sanitizing kill step. Scientists worry that it can make consumers vulnerable to bacterial or viral infection, but raw milk lovers can’t get enough of the creamy taste and allegedly healthful properties.

This debate is situated in what seems to be a public health emergency. Reports of bird flu infecting dairy cattle leave public health officials worried that drinking raw milk can spread disease. Under the Trump presidency, Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has vowed to increase public access to raw milk as a part of his Make America Healthy Again agenda. Raw influencers and “tradwives” promote it endlessly on social media. Through all this noise, it’s easy to lose sense of the fact that this is an issue that starts on the farm.

In this episode, you will hear from L.D. Peeler, acting patriarch of Milky Way Farm, his daughter, Iris, and son, Davis. Each plays a role on their small family farm, which raises 120 Jersey cows: Davis works on the farm, L.D. manages the finances, and Iris does the public relations. They each have different, but entangled, stories to tell.

At Milky Way Farm, we are reminded that, just like any other food, raw milk starts with the land, the animals, and the people that make it possible. Guided by the community’s desire for a tasty and safe product, the Peelers have shaped their business to meet this need. Thus, in the face of economic pressures of the dairy industry and cultural pressures around the product, they have risen above—like the cream beneath the lid of their bottled pints.

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In “What’s in Store for the Pawpaw Patch?” Gravy producer Anya Groner examines the pawpaw, a long-overlooked fruit that’s now being domesticated, making its way into farmers’ markets, restaurants, and even beer.

What plant has leaves that smell like green pepper, fruit that can taste like pineapple or turpentine, and bark that can be woven into baskets? Enter the poor man’s banana, also known as the pawpaw. Two decades ago, you’d be hard-pressed to find a nursery with a pawpaw tree for sale, but these days the mid-sized tree and its fruit has a near cult following. Though indigenous to the eastern United States, pawpaw trees fell out of popular consciousness for almost a century. The reason is at least in part economic. The fruit ripens and rots so quickly that it’s never been commercially viable. But, in recent years the northern-most variety of “custard apple,” a family of trees that includes the soursop and cherimoya, has had a remarkable comeback.

Over two decades ago, horticulturalist Neal Peterson sparked a renewed interest in the fruit after patenting seven pawpaw cultivars, which he bred for flavor, low seed count, and perishability. Yet not everyone lauds the growing popularity of pawpaws. Dr. Troy Wiipongwii, Director of Innovation and Entrepreneurship in Conservation at the College of William and Mary, says this surge of interest could backfire, causing an overproduction of the fruit that ultimately hurts the ecosystem. And Sean Wilson, who uses pawpaws to flavor seasonal beers at FullSteam Brewery in Durham, North Carolina, worries that too much cultivation might result in a bland fruit. 

So what’s next? Will pawpaws become the next “it” fruit, destined to flavor everything from soap to cocktails? Or will oversupply collapse the market and leave us with a flavorless fruit? In this episode, Groner takes us to a festival in Paw Paw, West Virginia, to explore what we lose and what we gain as America’s largest indigenous fruit, the pawpaw, is bred for market.

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In “Flambéed! The Art & Theater of Bananas Foster,” Gravy producer Eve Troeh takes listeners to Brennan’s, the iconic restaurant in New Orleans’ French Quarter, where skilled servers pull off one sensational culinary feat, table after table and day after day—Bananas Foster, flambéed tableside.

Brennan’s opened its doors more than seventy years ago, and its early years coincided with a hot trend in fine dining at the time: tableside dishes. Many know this practice, when a server wheels over a small cart to your table and makes a dish right in front of you. One of the iconic recipes in this pantheon of the tableside tradition is Bananas Foster, a rum-laden flambéed dessert that was invented at Brennan’s in 1951. Today, the dish appears on menus worldwide, and Brennan’s serves the original day and night, dazzling diners with a fiery display.

The ritual of tableside dining, once a hallmark of fine establishments, originates in European opulence, where elaborate presentations convey status and sophistication. While the tradition waned in the 1960s and 70s, Brennan's steadfastly preserves it, offering not only Bananas Foster but a repertoire of tableside classics, each dish a testament to culinary craftsmanship.

So what is it like to produce this “show” of Bananas Foster, day in and day out? For the staff at Brennan's, mastering the art of tableside service is a rite of passage. It takes a special kind of server to pull it off, as well as intensive training, special equipment, and a careful attention to safety as the dessert’s rum and liqueur sauce is lit. For Gravy, Troeh visits the Big Easy to speak with Christian Pendleton, general manager at Brennan’s, and Chalaine Celestain, a Brennan’s captain (or leading server) for whom tableside preparations are one part of a complex repertoire. From controlling the flames to engaging guests in the experience, she embodies the spirit of hospitality that defines Brennan's. Maureen Costura, professor of liberal arts and food studies at the Culinary Institute of America, offers historical context.

Despite the occasional mishap, the allure of tableside dining endures, offering patrons a glimpse into a bygone era of elegance and charm. For Christian and his team, it's not just about serving a meal; it's about creating memories and fostering connections with each guest.

In an ever-changing culinary landscape, Brennan's remains a bastion of tradition, where the art of tableside dining continues to captivate and delight. As long as there are flames to ignite and stories to tell, Bananas Foster will remain a cherished tradition, ensuring that the legacy of Brennan's lives on for generations to come.

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In “Conch: Queen of the Florida Keys,” Gravy producer Adwoa Gyimah-Brempong takes listeners to the Keys, where queen conch is plastered across menus: conch fritters, conch salad, even conch chowder. The shells are a visual icon in Key West, even gracing its (semi-joking) flag as a sovereign nation: The Conch Republic. Which is fascinating… because conch hasn’t been fished on the island in fifty years. So where is it coming from, where is it going, and why is the culture so enduring?

Conch is beloved both culturally and culinarily across the Caribbean, and the cuisine made its way to the Keys with an influx of Bahamians in the 1800s. It became a symbol of the slow way of life on the island, which chef Martin Liz points out is 40 miles closer to Cuba than it is to the nearest Walmart. It’s high in protein, easy to catch, versatile to prepare, and provides everything from building materials to precious pearls once harvested.

But in the Florida Keys, conch was overfished to the point of near collapse in the 1970s and ‘80s. The reasons that it hasn’t rebounded are being studied by scientists in Florida and elsewhere, because their numbers are falling throughout the waters where it makes its home. Due to a combination of overfishing, warming waters, and changing ocean pH, it’s getting harder for conch to reach sexual maturity. And as density-dependent reproducers who grow and travel at a snail’s pace, once populations are depleted they are very slow to return.

That’s a problem not just for kitchens, but for the ocean itself. As a bioengineer species that keeps seagrass beds vibrant and thriving, an ecosystem orbits around conch that spans from the tiniest algae all the way up to nurse sharks. It’s crucial for carbon sequestration, and also employs thousands of fishers around the Caribbean.

Different countries have approached this in a variety of ways: many have closed seasons. The Bahamas has completely closed exports, while Jamaica recently inaugurated the first conch fishery with Marine Stewardship Council (MSC) certification. Florida Fish and Wildlife researchers are experimenting with transporting immature conch further offshore, where they can bulk up the gastropod dating pool. And Florida Atlantic University’s Queen Conch Lab, led by professor Megan Davis, is partnering with research institutions and fishers to protect conch for generations to come.

In this episode, Gyimah-Brempong talks to Davis and her colleagues, as well as Gabriel Delgado, a researcher with Florida Fish and Wildlife, and Kristian Moree and Lachelle Russell, aquaculture technicians at Freeport mobile conch lab. She also interviews chefs who work with conch, including Martin Liz in Key West and Terry Eden Pratt in Grand Bahama. Michael Moxey, a Grand Bahama fisherman, tells of conch’s accessibility and an evolving way of life.

United around a love and need for these large-eyed snails, island nations are both strengthening their economies and increasing their protection from ever-stronger hurricanes. Which, with any luck, will keep conch on the sea floor – and in the stew pot – for generations to come.

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In “South Asian Food Makes Northwest Arkansas Taste Like Home,” Gravy producer Mackenzie Martin heads back to Northwest Arkansas (NWA), where Walmart began, to look at the retail giant’s influence on the region’s demographics and culinary landscape—specifically, spurring a boom of South Asian restaurants and food shops.

Walmart is seen by some as the king of genericness. Most of the products it sells don’t have much of a regional or local spirit. Yet, in NWA, Walmart (along with other big employers) is making the community more diverse by bringing in people from all over the country, and the world. And as the population has diversified, so, too has the quality of food and restaurants.

Between 2011 and 2018, the Indian American population in Bentonville alone more than tripled. It would be easy to see the infrastructure or community resources lacking. Thankfully, in Bentonville, people are starting to step up to fill the gaps. Twenty years ago, you’d have to go to Tulsa, Kansas City, or Oklahoma City to find Indian food served in a restaurant, a four-to-seven-hour round trip. Now, there are a dozen local options, in addition to several Indian grocery stores.

To investigate the way recent immigration has influenced the quality of South Asian food and restaurants, Martin visits a local Indian restaurant, a festival at the area’s first Hindu temple, and what is believed to be the first Pakistani restaurant in the region.

Many of the transplants here tell her that the resulting community is a uniquely welcoming one. Immigrants of all kinds participate in shared activities and culture while preserving the traditions of the countries they grew up in.

This is particularly on display at BBQ King, where Indian and Pakistani dishes share space on the menu. The blending of these two cuisines and cultures here is notable, since India and Pakistan have a complicated and tense relationship that goes back generations and includes several wars. Abdullah Asif, a student at the University of Arkansas whose family owns the restaurant, says it’s not like that in the United States, though: “We’re all part of the same community here.”

The Northwest Arkansas of today is a cosmopolitan region where people from all over the world make a living and find a home. They’re making space for others but also working to preserve what makes them unique. And thanks to places like BBQ King, they now have one more place to gather and meet each other.

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In “Cultivating Mexico in Northwest Arkansas,” Gravy producer Mackenzie Martin digs into the story of Yeyo’s, a vibrant family-run Mexican restaurant in Northwest Arkansas.

Here, the once-rural Ozarks are now one of the fastest-growing metropolitan areas in the country. That’s partly thanks to major employers like Walmart, Tyson Foods, and J.B. Hunt, but there are also many amenities the region offers, like a surplus of hiking and mountain biking trails and Crystal Bridges Art Museum. And as the population increases, so does the diversity of the region.

When the Rios family moved here from California in the early 2000s with dreams of owning land and starting a farm, it was a bit of a gamble. The family of Mexican immigrants says they were the first non-white family at the Bentonville Farmer Market around 2006.

Six years later, chef Rafael Rios opened a food truck, Yeyo’s Mexican Grill, named after his dad’s longtime nickname. The plan was to use produce from the farm and sell farm-to-table Mexican food. At first, he struggled—but he kept with it, and it paid off. Nearly 20 years later, the Rios family has two farms, two food trucks, a bar specializing in mezcal, and a flagship restaurant. Not to mention, Rafael Rios has been named a semifinalist by the James Beard Foundation for Best Chef: South four times.

Most importantly, though, Rios has a bigger mission than just him. He feels like diners in the U.S. aren’t very knowledgeable about the complicated, and often expensive, processes required to make high-quality Mexican cuisine, such as tortillas from scratch or really good mole sauce. That’s why he’s trying to change his customers’ perceptions of Mexican food by bringing them along with the cooking process. The restaurant kitchen is completely open, so guests see (and hear) everything happening there.

Education is a part of the job Rios willingly takes up. If a customer questions whether his tortillas are really all corn, for instance, he will literally take them back to the kitchen and show them the machine they use to shape and cut the tortillas.

He couldn’t do it without his family, though. All seven Rios siblings and their parents live in Northwest Arkansas, and 18 family members are involved with the restaurant in some way, from management to farming to dishwashing. In this episode, Rios shares his family’s journey to Yeyo’s and Arkansas’ changing food landscape.

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The black-eyed pea is not your average bean. Like many staple foods of the African Diaspora, it’s become a powerful symbol of food sovereignty and survival. With the migration of the black-eyed pea from West Africa during the transatlantic slave trade came a superstition about good luck. This belief combines folklore from West Africa and Western Europe in the American South. Our episode follows the journey of the black-eyed pea, time traveling through the folklore of the past and an Afrofuturist vision of what’s still to come.

This episode was reported and produced by Sarah Holtz.

Special thanks go to:

Michael Twitty

Adrian Miller

B. Brian Foster

Ira Wallace

Music by:

"Neuanfang" by Kielicaster

"Shangri La" by Kielicaster

"Dusty" by Crowander

"Clay Pawn Shop" by Blue Dot Sessions

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In “What Makes Gumbo...Gumbo?” Gravy producer Katie Carter King takes us all the way to Northern California to understand what folklorist John Lauden meant when he said, “Gumbo is not a word, it’s a syntax, a way of putting something together.”

Cooks and culinarians have long argued about gumbo. Is it Creole or Cajun in its roots and history? Is it a soup, a stew, or some mysterious third thing? But perhaps nothing gets Southerners more heated than conversations about how you make gumbo—from the ingredients to the recipe technique, the dish has long provoked spirited debates. But in the southeast corner of San Francisco, one man has become known as Mr. Gumbo, and he’s not looking to pick a fight, but rather start a conversation.

Mr. Gumbo—also known as chef Dontaye Ball—grew up making gumbo with his grandmother. But after she passed away and he took helm of the family’s gumbo tradition, Dontaye began to realize the limitations of a single pot of gumbo. The seafood-centric recipe he’d long made accidentally excluded many of his loved ones: vegans, vegetarians, folks with shellfish allergies. So, he decided to cook up something new, something a bit unorthodox. He created a gumbo bar, complete with all the delicious possibilities his friends and family could dream up, including both different soup bases and different accouterments. A recurring event sprung to life, quickly morphing from holiday party to block party to pop-up business.

Growing up, community was always at the forefront of Dontaye’s mind. His grandmother centered serving the community in her cooking. Dontaye was raised in the Bayview, a sunny, geographically isolated neighborhood that has been the last corner of the city to gentrify. Once home to Maltese farmers and Chinese shrimpers, the area became home to thousands of Black workers who migrated following the eruption of World War II. A tight-knit community formed, one that took care of its own. While Dontaye had never planned on opening a full restaurant, when a space became open on a prominent corner in his own neighborhood, he saw how much possibility gumbo could offer—and knew he couldn’t say no.

In this episode, Katie Carter King learns about Dontaye’s path to becoming a restaurateur and community leader. Additionally, geographer and UC Santa Cruz professor Lindsey Dillon helps situate the Gumbo Social story in the larger landscape of Bayview and San Francisco’s Black residents and culture.

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In “The Joyful Black History of the Sweet Potato,” Kayla Stewart reports for Gravy on sweet potatoes, which Southern-born Black Americans have baked, roasted, fried, distilled—and long revered. Stewart takes listeners across the United States to learn how African Americans are finding new, interesting ways to enjoy sweet potatoes.

Harvey and Donna Williams own and operate Delta Dirt Distillery in Helena, Arkansas. Both grew up in Arkansas, and Harvey was raised on a farm that has been in his family for generations. His father began growing sweet potatoes to make efficient use of his small acreage, and Williams grew to love the root for its nutritional value. At a conference, he met an entrepreneur distilling sweet potatoes and decided to try it himself. In 2021, Delta Dirt Distillery was born, earning a host of beverage awards. But for the Williams family, success is about more than medals. It’s about recognizing the history and pride associated with sweet potatoes–a history that’s likely made the product even more compelling to Black Americans in the area. 

Jeremy Peaches is an agriculture consultant who works at Lucille’s 1913, a non-profit organization operated by Houston chef Chris Williams that aims to combat food insecurity in vulnerable communities. While sweet potatoes are beloved for their sweet, earthy flavor, Peaches says they were also one of the first major sources of economic opportunity for Black American farmers, in part thanks to their resilience during the annual harvest.

Though sweet potatoes can be enjoyed raw, roasted, or distilled, there’s nothing quite like the sweet potato pie. To understand how these pies have been comforting Southerners around the holidays for centuries, Stewart steps into the kitchen with restaurateur and cookbook author Alexander Smalls, who explains the history of sweet potato pie and why Black Americans make such a strong claim to the dish. Finally, Joye B. Moore, owner of Joyebells Desserts and Countrysides, tells of the generational traditions that make her famous sweet potato pies so exceptional.

For this episode, Stewart interviews Harvey Williams, Jeremy Peaches, Alexander Smalls, and Joye B. Moore to learn how this root vegetable nourishes Black entrepreneurs, cooks, and communities—bodies and souls.

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